


Always the Quiet Ones

by butterpanic



Category: Escape Room (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, F/F, Femdom, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-02-01 05:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterpanic/pseuds/butterpanic
Summary: Being quiet is what Zoey's good at.
Relationships: Zoey Davis/Amanda Harper
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2019





	Always the Quiet Ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tide_ms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tide_ms/gifts).

Amanda never runs faster than Zoey. She'll run ahead, check around corners, measure the gaps. But never fast enough to leave her behind. Never like she's decided to cut her losses. To be the last one out.

They don't talk much about what they were before. They don't talk much, period, but Zoey's always preferred to watch, anyways. Amanda was a soldier, or something near it. The way she moves, the way she's built. She's even used those hand signals a few times, the kind soldiers flash in movies, though she didn't seem to realize she'd done it. Zoey liked that. Like a secret language, a layer on the silence that always lies between them.

Silence is a relative term. They aren't speaking, but their feet slap against the wet pavement. The clatter of their pursuers echoes off the cold concrete of the empty buildings on either side. Zoey breathes hard, harder than Amanda though she's trying to match the other woman's cadence. It's steady and familiar, like every other part of Amanda she's studied so far. If Zoey closed her eyes, she might almost be able to pretend they were out for a morning jog in the city, rather than making an escape.

"Left," Amanda says, a moment before she makes a sharp turn into the next gap.

She's gone when Zoey follows, but the panic hasn't had a chance to beat through her chest by the time she notices that Amanda's above, belly down on a listing fire escape and gesturing. For the backpack, she assumes, their hard-won roll of tubing nestled safely inside; she shrugs it off and tosses it upwards. Amanda rolls her eyes, gesturing again. Oh, right. There's a few chunks of broken wall below, but not enough to reach. Amanda must have pulled herself up.

She reaches. Amanda reaches. Their fingers barely touch, and that little panic begins to stir in her chest once more, practiced breaths coming unsteady. The menace on their heels is still far, by the noise, but never so far that it can't catch up.

"Just jump."

Her hands are around Zoey's thin forearms before she's even realized she obeyed, a quiet grunt and strain and the soft scrape of metal as she's dragged up and over the edge.

Behind them, the sound of the wolves, more than two and taking no pains to hide their progress. Zoey's pressed up against Amanda, arm to arm, feeling small and trying to be smaller as they approach. It's second nature to her to avoid notice, and right now that's all she wants. _Don't see me, don't see me._

The metal below them groans and shifts. Years of decay leave their scars on the city, too, and their hiding place is only as secure as the straining anchors and crumbling facade of the building to which it clings.

"Quiet," Amanda whispers, but the structure shudders again and Zoey can't help the hiss that slips between her teeth.

It stops. Everything stops, the groan of the metal and the noise of the pursuit. Even the pounding in her ears gets quiet, and it takes her a moment to realize that Amanda has moved. She's awkwardly twisted in the small space, blocking the view of the street, a firm arm pulled tight around Zoey. Whatever further outbursts Zoey might have are muffled in her chest as she presses her close.

"Quiet, Zo," she repeats, then, "Stay still. Less we move, the better." It may be the most that she's said to her all day, something Zoey would be sure to record if she weren't currently so focused on doing exactly what Amanda says.

It's working. She breathes, matching the rise and swell of Amanda's chest to her own. The fire escape shudders a little, but holds, both women doing their very best to become nothing but more dead city.

They're here. The clatter reaches a crescendo, a sea of chaos flowing past the mouth of the alley. In her head, Zoey runs the specs for their new rainwater filter. The one she designed, like all the things that keep them alive here, the one that's missing only the roll of tubing in her pack to begin its service. Traces each carefully plotted line, just the way she has it sketched into her journal. Measured, weighed, checked and rechecked. Worth the risk. Amanda never debates her, just asks what she needs and figures out how they're going to get it. She sketches Amanda, too, like one day she'll have her all down in the journal and solve the puzzle. Warm skin, steady heartbeat. The muscled arm and the ever-present grime of sweat that no amount of rainwater soaks will ever really get out of that tank top.

Not this. Not right now. Zoey has traced the lines of this particular sequence enough times to know where it leads, and where it leads is not appropriate for a rickety fire escape ten feet above certain death. It's hormones. Just hormones, spiked by stress and bleeding off.

Still, the weight of the arm curled around the back of her neck, the effort of silence...

The passage is endless. Or maybe time is, just this moment. Zoey glances upwards only to catch Amanda looking down, though the other woman jerks her head away to watch the street the moment their eyes meet.

There was something in her eyes. Even once the danger is beyond them, the uncertain but appreciated safety of their hiding place abandoned, it sticks with her. The way Amanda's embrace tightened, just for a moment, that flash before she broke their gaze. On their long trek back home, a new design begins to form.

* * *

"I liked that."

Amanda looks up from her stew, absently licking at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes immediately shift to the can it came from, identical to the one containing every stew dinner before and after. There is no one left on the planet who could say they liked it, but they'd found a pallet of it months back and it's food. According to the label, anyway. Maybe Zoey walked into that one.

"Earlier today." She swallows hard. This isn't going to be any less awkward to say if she draws it out. "I like it when you tell me what to do."

"To be clear," Amanda says, "you mean earlier today when we almost died."

This should not be this hard. They share a camp. They share resources. They share a bed, in both senses of the term, and have been since nearly the day they met. What's between them is comfort. Filling a need, like masturbation with someone else's hands. They've been fucking for months, and this is the first time either of them has brought up the subject of sex.

"We don't always have to be dying." Zoey's aware she sounds petulant. This was a mistake, speaking up always is; there was nothing wrong with the Amanda in her head and together with the Amanda in front of her, she's left with very little about which to complain.

"I had a girlfriend that liked it rough," Amanda says conversationally, attention back on her stew. That's two firsts in one day, if they’re talking about exes now. "You want me to pull your hair? Tell you you're a bad girl?"

Zoey wants what Amanda wants from her. Not just Amanda's body in their bed, her fingers deep inside her, but Amanda, all the beautiful parts of her. Zoey has the plans, but Amanda makes them happen, and right now that's all she can think about.

"I want you to tell me what to do. Please."

There was something in her eyes. Zoey knows for sure because now it's back, not a passing flicker, but in Amanda's eyes and on her lips as they curve into a smile. She sets the stew aside carefully and rises, tall frame unfolding as she stalks over to grab Zoey's portion from her hands. Then Zoey's off the ground, confused and disoriented until she realizes that she's been scooped up whole into Amanda's arms. The worn springs of their salvaged mattress squeak as she's tossed, not ungently, onto her back. Between her parted knees Amanda is framed, sizing her up consideringly as she stands at the foot of the bed.

"Shirt," she says. Her voice cracks a little, almost imperceptibly. "Take off your shirt."

Zoey's fingers fumble with the hem as she complies. Back arching, she drags it over her head. When these clothes have worn through they'll probably have to start making their own, and she should be paying more care with this one. It doesn't matter. She's already got enough to consider between her urge to get naked as quickly as possible and the knowledge that she's only been given this one task to start. Anything else is out of her hands now.

She resists the urge to cover her breasts. The abandoned apartment they call home is as cool and faintly damp as the rest of the city, and it's rare for her to bare anything outside of the protection of the blanket beneath her. How often has Amanda even seen her like this? Her nipples pebble, tighten under Amanda's scrutiny.

"Pants." Amanda doesn't move, still watching as Zoey rolls down her jeans. The underwear nearly follows, but with some twisting she gets them to stay. Amanda only said pants, that's what she'll get. It's easier, somehow, the more exposed she gets. It helps that Amanda doesn't stop watching the whole time, eyes hungrier with every movement, every inch of revealed skin.

The mattress dips below Amanda's knees as she joins her, body stretching like a cat as she crawls up alongside. Not touching her, though she's close enough that Zoey can feel the heat of her body radiating against her own. She reaches out and slowly, deliberately, runs her fingers along the underside of her breast.

Then she pinches her nipple.

It's fire, the shock and heat blooming all at once like it's just been waiting to burst into flame. A relatively gentle tweak, not meant to cause much pain, but the tension of the day makes everything seem bigger. She whines, something strangled and embarrassingly needy. Amanda leans back, hands away, that same considering look on her face as before.

"No, I don't think so." One finger, long and delicate, comes to rest on the bow of Zoey's lips. "Stay quiet."

She almost disobeys immediately, opening her lips to agree before catching the impulse. She nods instead. Quiet is what Zoey is. She can do this.

Amanda bends closer, hair slipping carelessly over one shoulder to whisper against her skin. She's soft, aimless. A brush of her lips over the pulse point on Zoey's neck, fingers running lightly against the hem of her underwear. It would be unsatisfying, maybe, too sweet, too gentle, but Zoey's nipple still throbs with the reminder that it's only a temporary reprieve. Only a tease, making her crave and dread the next attack in equal measure.

A blunt fingernail drawing sharply up the tender flesh of her inner thigh has her thrusting her tongue at the back of her teeth, trying to stifle the sound she's trying so very hard not to make. _Quiet_, she chants, _quiet, quiet_.

The sensations stop, touch absent for so long that Zoey cracks her eyelids, searching. Had she failed? She finds Amanda staring down at her, eyes dark, and knows without a word that the game has ended. No more teasing.

"Give me your hands," Amanda says, and when Zoey complies she shoves them up by the wrists to a spot above her head with an emphasis that makes it clear without words that that's where they should stay. Her thighs are pushed apart, a rough thumb pressed between them. Even with the fabric barrier of her underwear between them it's clear from the ease of the motions Amanda makes that Zoey is soaking wet. She's stroking now, transfixed, more attention paid than she needed to prove that Zoey gets off on this. Like nothing they've done, all those times before.

She wants to close her eyes again. Block it out, simplify the inputs. Give herself a chance to sort shame from desire, turn it over until it makes sense. Instead, she forces her eyes open. Forces herself to meet Amanda's eyes, that hungry stare, and to keep them open when Amanda hooks her underwear abruptly to the side to spread her inner lips.

This may be new, but Amanda's still had her hands between Zoey's thighs on a regular enough basis to know how to touch her now. The same practiced motions, just a little faster. A little harder, like she's pushing the boundaries. Testing her, seeing how far she can run without needing to look back. Her thumb to the side of her clit in steady pressure as her other hand explores.

The underwear is in the way now, a twisted and sticky obstacle. Amanda drags them down her legs, wet and quickly cooling in the evening air, then returns, straddling one thigh and urging the other even farther apart with a firm hand. She rests a finger between them, waiting. Zoey is more than ready and she wants to feel her, but what she wants even more is to hear her.

"Let me in."

Zoey nods. She acquiesces. Amanda slides inside.

It's not slow, not tonight. One finger quickly becomes two, and Zoey twists, fighting to stay silent, to remember her hands as she feels the pressure build. It's throbbing in her ears, deafening, and she shamelessly deals with it by rocking her hips down. Fucking herself on Amanda's fingers, pushing against them to make a good thing even better. Amanda moans, breathing heavy, and through the haze of pleasure, she realizes she's fucking her too. Amanda grinds against her thigh, speeding along with her hand, and if Zoey was close before she's so much closer now.

Lit from behind by the dim light of an emergency lamp, Amanda is transformed. Her hair a glowing halo, her bare shoulders shining with sweat, all that energy focused down into one point at the center of Zoey's chest so intently that she imagines she can feel it burning between her breasts.

"Come on. Come on, Zo, come on-"

She crashes over the edge all at once, clamping down around Amanda's fingers and around the scream she refuses to release.

Amanda groans, rocking her hips more frantically against Zoey's thigh. She shifts, the hand she pulls from within her wrapping around Zoey's wrists. It's still wet, slippery with the proof of her pleasure and Amanda can't have much of a grip on them, but the pressure seems to be enough. Amanda covers Zoey’s body with her own, a solid weight above her. She grasps her chin in a firm hand, turning Zoey's face to meet hers.

"Fuck me."

It's more of a command than anything that's come before, and if Zoey's traitorous mouth betrays her silence in that moment, it's swallowed by the press of lips against hers. Zoey knows what Amanda wants, too, knows how she likes it. She grinds back, her trapped thigh rubbing, needing more than anything to make Amanda come. To fuck her, to let her know with her body, if not her words, that anything Amanda wants is hers. It doesn't take long. Amanda's thighs shake around Zoey's leg, rhythm faltering, and she collapses atop her, propped on an elbow to spare her the weight.

They lay in silence. Amanda's never been much of a cuddler, but when she rolls off of Zoey she pulls her over and Zoey goes without questioning. Combs through Zoey's curls as Zoey rests her cheek against one muscular arm, breath slowing. The shirt smells like sweat and sex now. Rainwater soak is never going to get that out.


End file.
